The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [102]
“Wait. No. I can’t,” Cobb protested, feeling the letter.
“Just stick it in your pocket,” Nail insisted.
“No, really, they’d—” Cobb said, darting a glance around the room. “Sshh! They’re watching us!”
Nail looked around. Fat Gabe and Short Leg were over at the end of the mess hall, but they weren’t watching. The only one watching was the mess trusty, a black man. But he was watching the two of them intently, and he could clearly see Nail’s hand on Cobb’s leg.
“Take it, quick!” Nail said.
“No, take it back!” Cobb said. “Move your hand!”
The black trusty yelled, “GIT DE WADDEN!” Fat Gabe and Short Leg came over. The black trusty said to them, “Dem two done passed some paper,” and pointed at Cobb. “Marse Buddell he say to watch dat man. Git de wadden.”
Nail had taken back his letter and thrust it back into his pants band but in doing so had jarred loose the wad of Viridis’ letter so that it fell down into his trouser leg. Fat Gabe said, “On your feet, Chism!” and as Nail stood up he felt the wad of Viridis’ letter slide down his leg to the floor. Without looking down, he covered it with his shoe. Fat Gabe held out his hand, and said, “Whatcha got there? Le’s have it!”
Nail held out his empty hands. “I aint got nothin.”
Fat Gabe looked at Farrell Cobb and demanded, “He hand something to you?”
“Well…no, he…I don’t have anything,” Cobb said.
“Search ’im,” Fat Gabe told Short Leg, who reached inside Farrell Cobb’s suit coat and searched his pockets and then the pockets of his trousers.
“He’s clean,” Short Leg announced.
“Search Chism,” Fat Gabe said. Nail wondered, Am I gonna have to use my knife before it’s time? He hoped Short Leg wouldn’t find his knife. But Short Leg went immediately to his trousers and, knowing that no convict’s trousers ever had pockets, felt inside the waistband and brought out the letter. “Well, well,” Fat Gabe said, snatching the letter out of Short Leg’s hand and holding it up high. “What have we here?” He turned to Farrell Cobb and waved the letter under his nose. “He try to pass this to you? Or did you give it to him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Cobb said.
“What do you mean, Mister Cobb?” Fat Gabe demanded. “Is this yours or his?”
“It isn’t mine, I assure you,” Cobb said. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Cobb,” Fat Gabe said. Cobb hastily departed, and Fat Gabe said to Short Leg, “Get the boss.”
Warden Burdell was summoned, and came, and Fat Gabe handed him the letter. The warden took out his spectacles and put them on. He unfolded the sheets, giving Nail a glance to indicate he recognized the writing-paper as the same he had given Nail to write his mother at Christmastime. He read the letter, grinning. Nail stood helpless, the sole of his shoe pressing down on the wad of Viridis’ letter. Would he ever get a chance to read it? Finally the warden looked up and said to Nail, “So this was intended for Miss Monday of the Gazette, huh? As I suspected, she’s sweet on you. Right?” Nail did not answer. The warden flapped the letter. “You say here that you’d like to kill the governor. Is that true?” Nail would not answer. “Answer me, or do you need Gabe to give you some persuasion?” Nail gave a semblance of a nod. “And it says here you’re planning to kill a few of us before we electrocute you. You want to tell me how you’re planning to do that?” Nail could not answer. The warden removed his spectacles and looked at Fat Gabe and Short Leg and said to them, “Maybe he thinks he can do it with his bare hands!” and both of the sergeant-guards laughed. “If you’re so impatient to give it a try, Chism, your date with Old Sparky is right around the corner. I think we’d better put you back in the death hole to wait for it. But first…” (the warden inclined his head in the direction of Fat Gabe) “…first I believe my assistant here, ole Gabe, would like to inflict an appropriate punishment for your stupid attempt to smuggle this letter out of here. Is that right, Gabe?”
“Just let me get my hide,” Fat Gabe said. “We’ll do it right here in the mess hall.